Bad For Business
by Spoodlexiii
Summary: When Phoenix moved in with Miles, neither were expecting things to happen as they did. By the end, Miles figures out; Wright's going to be bad for business. Warnings: Slash, insuated situations.


A/N: It's been a while since I've had a Wright fic up, eh? Sorry for the delay on Reunite My Turnabout, guys. I might be putting that one on an infinite pause. Maybe. Anyway. Hope you enjoy this one. Read and review, that fun stuff. I'm going with first person--something I haven't really done with the Wright fics yet. And from Miles' view at that. Lemme know if you guys still love me.

PS) Might not be my best fic. Roughly based off of a Roleplay I had with a friend. Very roughly based.

At first, I thought I'd give him a week. He'll be back on his feet, his career will pick up and then he'll be out of my house and out of my way. But the days passed and he was still there, making my breakfasts and fixing my dinners, doing our laundry, and washing the dishes. He was handy, there was no doubt about that, but it was still odd hearing a soft string of mumbles coming from my living room as I tried to roll over and fall asleep. Another week passed, and he still remained. By the end of the month, I was sure I had asked him to stay when he finally packed up his bag. I reasoned that him doing my chores was good enough payment for him staying, and although he never would admit to it, and nor would I bring it up, but I think he wanted to cry out of relief.

When it came to Phoenix Wright, I learned a good many things from him just by watching him. I'd be working in my study, and he'd sit across the room, not focusing on his current case but doing something random and probably stupid. I'd catch him sketching if he found himself particularly distressed on certain nights. Simply, he'd explain that he majored in art back in college, and he'd draw to relieve stress. I didn't press him for details, college had been a touchy subject with him, and when I glanced through his court past, I learned why. I didn't bring it up with him. It was for the best.

I didn't notice my attitude rubbing off on him, and he didn't notice his rubbing off on me. Not until one night, when the clock struck about one in the morning, and I had decided I was done studying a certain case. With a stroke I brushed the papers in an orderly fashion into my case, tired and stressed and hoping to god that I could win this case. Losing was annoying me, but I guess in my business, it was better to be wrong than right. Wandering with unsteady steps out into my living room, I set my briefcase by my coffee table and I looked over to the couch. It was instinct by then, to glance over and see if he was sleeping. Sometimes he was reading one of the books from my extensive collection shelved amongst the walls of the room. Between the crammed shelves, where one might have had a TV, I had a fireplace. To the far left of the room was a piano and cupboard where I kept some wine, and on the right was a large armchair that matched the couch and coffee table settled in the dead center. This was Wright's 'room', give or take, and I said he could trash the coffee table as he pleased.

Wright was a different kind of person. On the turn of a dime, he could stare at you with those stormy blue eyes, or he'd flash a smile accompanied with a glowing, sky blue gaze. From smiling to thinking, he could be two entirely different Phoenix Wrights. The one I saw in court, and the one you'd see staring at a fountain in the middle of a park thinking, _I wonder if I could wash my hair in there…_ But I admired him, although that might only be the tip of the iceberg these days. There was something stirred deep in the recesses of his heart, but it was best to just keep them smothered until it was easier to understand them. The man was like a child when caught outside of work; easy to please and so playfully innocent that it was hard not to smile yourself. But if you caught him staring out the window, eyes deep and intense, he would be serious and quiet. I wondered which one of his moods expressed the real Phoenix the best; the idiot savant, or the stressed genius? Either way, I was growing attached with him every time I saw him smile or smirk, and maybe that was because he was so different.

Wright was curled over the table, resting his head on his open sketchbook. A fail trail of saliva ran from his slack jaw, and though I suppressed the shudder, I was hesitant to touch him to move him into a more comfortable position. Sleeping hunched over like the bell ringer in Notre Dome was sure to cause back pain and if there was one thing I could prevent then, it would be stopping his ailment before I could see him try to silently cope with it all of the next day. With a careful nudge and silent gratitude to my early morning exercise routine, I managed to lift Phoenix awkwardly and drag him up into the couch behind him. I covered him in his blanket, rolling my eyes at his at-home wear, and then turned to clean up (or at least pile together) the mess on the table. Phoenix had a habit of changing into sweatpants and old shirts that were faded, wrinkled, and peeling, and not that I entirely minded, it was what was on his odd assortment of lay-around clothes. 'RENT', 'BON JOVI', and 'LES MESERABLES' were his favorites, and they were all original buys, so they were aged appropriately. He wasn't old enough to have experienced Bon Jovi in his entirety, but he had once told me that his mother had handed down the Jovi one and the Les Mes one. The subject of parents made us both uncomfortable and so we had avoided that conversation.

I flipped through his papers absently, most of them for his most recent case (funny, I mused, did he use to study his trials so intently?) but I paused when I finally got to his sketchbook. I'd never seen inside of it, and my curiosity almost smothered me for a long, hesitating moment. If I hadn't been letting Phoenix's nature been rubbing off on me, I would've left it and murmured a good night to the sleeping attorney. Once in my hand, I thumbed through the pages, examining some of his drawings. Some looked old, and the graphite had a faded and aged look to it early on in the book. Those were of a girl, a girl I dared not speak of aloud in worry Phoenix would stir and hear and sleep uncomfortably the rest of the night. The closer I got, I could see the progression of time; Mia Fey, then Maya, then Pearl, even some of Gumshoe, Franziska, and even Godot. But where was I? He'd drawn everyone else, and surprisingly well too, but I found my presence to be absent. For God's sake, even Butz was in there! Where was I? I almost chucked it at Phoenix in a very unbecoming jealous fit, but I didn't and flipped to the back. What I found made my jaw drop.

A month with this attorney did not seem like a long time, but as my gaze swept up to him for a second, it felt like he'd always lived here. His black hair and blue eyes and crooked smile, and on weekends his unshaven jaw, looked so natural. It was as though I'd bought the house with Phoenix inside, smirking and wanting to ask if they could go and get something to eat at the café down the street. Phoenix had a mean sweet tooth, and I could hardly keep up. I wasn't entirely surprised when I put on a few pounds after the second week of having him constantly eating ice cream and cake with me. As I glanced him over once more, I realized that without the attorney around my home, I wouldn't feel as good as I did. Goosebumps traveled across my flesh. Apparently, he thought the same--without him at my place, he'd never be as happy as he was now.

Sometimes he'd come in and take a half-asleep piss while I showered, and although I'd yell at him to get the hell out, he'd glance up sluggishly and shrug. Phoenix wasn't a morning person. But I didn't think he ever saw much of me as I lathered myself down, however…this evidence was quite contradicting to this recently mentioned statement. Drawings of me, all of me, from all angles and in all poses. There was a half naked sketch as I let the hot water from the showerhead run down my face and down my chest; a drawing on me as I stared away; a picture as I read my books in bed, glasses resting on my nose and my hair mussed up. I was shocked at his talent; the shading was gorgeous and the muscles he traced out were proportional and suiting, as they were in real life. Heat rose up in my cheeks and for a silly, naïve moment I thought, _Dammit all, I can't get a fever now, I have a case coming up!_ But then I figured out there was a blush on my face. I lifted up a pencil and wrote very neatly and subtly amongst the margin of the page.

**I have a mole under my right arm. -Miles.**

With a careful, almost surgical care, I set the book back down like it was made of glass, and I moved to Phoenix's side. Hesitating on whether or not it was a good idea, I leaned over and kissed Phoenix's temple, wondering what exactly it meant, but then deciding to shut off my tired brain and go to bed. Phoenix mumbled my name as I walked back to my room, I blushed again, but I kept moving.

The next morning, I found a sticky note under my arm.

**Liar.**

I don't think I had ever laughed so hard in my life while knowing there was another human being a room over who could hear it perfectly.

--

It was two months now that the attorney was living with me. I was seeing another side of him, or so I thought, but maybe I was just seeing the same side with true colors. When his eyes became that rain-cloud bluish-gray, he's let this horrible, evil smirk curl his lip and he'd wander up to me completely nonchalantly--this is where I would assume he was just being an idiot like usual. He did that a lot and at random moments. Inside and outside of the courtroom, I found that Phoenix could be a complete and utter moron. Don't get me wrong, it amuses me to no end, but he could be amazingly dense about the most obvious of things. For example, just the other day, he had been trying to heat himself up some soup in my microwave (he had, and still does have, a cold) and he made the startling realization that the numbers were what programmed minutes. "I always hit 'quick on' and then zero, because it heats things up for thirty seconds," he explained to me with a pink blush across his cheeks. "It was annoying because I had to keep re-hitting it every thirty seconds, especially since it was supposed to cook for five minutes!"

Sometimes, I wondered why he was a defense attorney. Or an attorney at all. Or why I was letting him live with me, even, because I was becoming sure that his idiocy was contagious. I startled myself all the time with silly little epiphanies, _I didn't know that a book end was actually for holding a row of books in place! It just looked like good decoration…_ It was both alarming and infuriatingly pleasant. I didn't know everything. I was still on almost the same level as Phoenix. It eliminated the feeling that I was just too smart for him, and it certainly helped me sleep easier. Then again, there were times when Phoenix absolutely knocked me off of my feet with profound words. He was two different people, maybe he was one of a set of times, but I saw his thought processes shift before my very eyes all the time. Although I had been positive he also had a third side, I managed to figure out that this side was just part of that more intelligent, dangerous side of Phoenix.

He pinched my ass as I washed the dishes and I felt my skin erupt into gooseflesh. Spinning on my heel, alarmed, opening my mouth to demand what that was, I met a pair of sparking and dangerous eyes that made all the spit in my maw dry up. He shut my jaw for me with a finger and he smirked playfully. Vaguely, I was aware that he'd pinched me again when he was close, and then he was gone, disappearing like a specter. I stared into the sink, sub-conscious rubbing where he'd pinched me, and I figured out that Phoenix had a live wire in him. A sexy genius. An adorable idiot savant. I grew hard and stormed off to the bathroom in a sullen mood, knowing but not liking the idea that he was turning me on. For God's sake, it was _Phoenix Wright_…Besides, I was pretty sure he was going out with that psychic of his, wasn't he? Maybe not. I failed rather epically when it came to relationships and keeping track there of.

This was not the first case. It wasn't long after, about a day after he realized how my microwave worked, that he approached me and took hold of my cravat. Instinct told me to jerk away, but my body had frozen up. He tugged me close, giving me a smirk, and before I knew it he was yanking on my cravat and dragging me to his lips. I would've liked to say that I pulled back and snapped at him to be gay somewhere else, but I didn't. Honestly, I actually pressed closer and let an unwitting moan escaped me. We both knew it then, and I pulled back, eyes wide. We both knew he had absolute control over me. "Wright," I said warningly, but he didn't listen. He smashed his lips against mine again and pressed me to the table. Newspapers and my briefcase slid off with flutters and clatters, and he arched over me, grinding his lips and his hips against mine. The hand that wasn't holding me down by my arm was holding tightly to my cravat, and I wondered if he was actually trying to strangle me, and maybe he wondered it too because he loosened up. Hot breaths traveled across my neck and soon a warm, wet tongue was sliding up the shell of my ear. I grabbed at him in a needy, demanding gesture and I almost wanted to grab his length through his sweatpants. I bit at his bare neck and he sucked and licked on my ear.

Something brushed against me and I knew he was hard too. I about lost it there and whimpered quietly as he rubbed against me again. Then my thoughts interrupted my private bliss, snarling at me, _Stop this! Stop it! This isn't right, it could ruin both of your careers! No further than this, Miles, you'll regret it!_ I gasped and pushed Phoenix back. We stared at each other, heated, heaving, faint beads of sweat trailing down both of our foreheads. Then he seemed to understand and he nodded, but that devilish smirk crossed his face and he gave my erection a squeeze as he left the room. I let out a hard noise of both disappointment and irritation. Damn, he was an idiot, and he was a genius, but I didn't think he was also a little sex demon.

Now, I watched him draw, looking innocent and guileless. I couldn't take it. I walked up to him, muttering, "To hell with my career", and it wasn't long before we were plastered on my bed and we were enjoying ourselves. It was a wrestling match at first; neither of us wanted to be on the bottom, and so we struggled. I thought for sure, for sure he was going to press that spot behind my ear and make me melt, but I rubbed the spot below the naval, right along his treasure trail, and he whimpered in submission. It was a bit of a new experience for me, but it felt natural enough when we were done and I was smirking proudly at my success.

He rolled over and murmured something in my ear that made my stomach twist. I liked Phoenix. He was a good friend, pretty much wonderful in bed, and (I'd never admit it aloud) adorable. But I didn't love him. I don't think I'd loved anyone besides my father, and Franziska, and that was only a sibling-to-sibling relationship. I pretended to sleep when he murmured that, and I think we were both fine with that.

By the time he'd awoken the next morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying my coffee. He came staggering into the kitchen from the hallway, and I tried to hide the smirk that flashed across my face when I saw him limp. It gave me silent satisfaction that I'd conquered him somewhere. If I couldn't beat him in court…Well, the next best thing was just as good. I pretended he didn't exist, simply because I wasn't ready for him and his attitude, but that became a bit too difficult when he snatched my paper out of my hands and kissed my temple. We both flushed, and I was silent a moment longer than I wanted to be merely because of the alien feeling of having someone kiss me so suddenly. If he thought we were…well, lovers, he had another thing coming.

"You know what Risk Astley's never going to do?" he said, cutting me off before I told him my thoughts. The question threw me so far off my original thought pattern that I could only stare at him over my shoulder. "He'll never give you up. He'll never let you down. He'll never run around, and hurt you."

"You were Rick-Roll'd, weren't you," I said dryly. "You went online on my laptop again. Wright, how many times do I have to tell you--"

"I didn't want to wake you up and ask you a stupid question," he interrupted, looking at his hands and sitting down. "So I just went online and asked Google. I look stupid enough during court." He grinned weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I…don't want to look stupid to you anymore."

I raised an eyebrow, sipping my coffee. It was a silent encouragement to continue. He flustered, having expected something snide out of me, and he smiled weakly. "I like you a lot, Miles." The usage of my first name made me shift uncomfortably. I could barely call him 'Wright', but he barely even flinched when he called me 'Miles'. He continued, so as not to lose his train of thoughts. His eyes deepened into that storm-cloud blue that I thought was so attractive and entrancing. He looked at me dead-on, and in all seriousness. It made my insides squirm. "You've been so kind, letting me live here. Just being around you has done wonders for me. My job's been picking up, and I've been adopting your study habits. The diet of all ramen noodles wasn't doing me so well, and eating much more balanced has been nice too. But…To be honest, I haven't felt the way I do since I met Dahlia…Er..Iris."

I set my mug down. He was talking about that incident. That was something he shouldn't be doing. I opened my mouth to stop him there, but he slammed a fist down on the table to stop me. "I know it! Don't stop me. I've never really talked about it. I don't intend on doing so, either. I just want to let you know that I love you, Miles. I've always been gay. Iris, Dahlia, whatever--she was just an exception to the rule. And I think I've always loved you. Even when we were kids. If you don't want to reciprocate my feelings, Miles, then tell me. Because I don't think I can just pretend I don't have feelings for you."

I sat there, silent, a little blown away by the information. Since…we were kids…? That was a long time ago. Seeing a picture of Phoenix during college, I didn't doubt the statement about him being homosexual, but the statement on him always loving me…That was something I had a hard time understanding. I didn't know love. I barely grew up with love. I was fond of Phoenix, and I liked him around, but did I love him? I don't think I did. I couldn't have. Did he expect me to?

My silence was detrimental to him. When I said nothing, his eyes turned a softer, gentler blue, and filled with a stinging pain. He nodded, looking down. But before he could say anything, I moved to his chair, and pushed his chin up.

"I can't say I love you," I told him softly. "But I can say I'd like to learn how to." I silenced anything more with a kiss.

This was how Phoenix Wright became my lover. He'd only been with me two months, and he had me under his spell. I'd learn to love from him, and I would enjoy it. I'd enjoy having him draw me. I'd enjoy his idiocy. I'd enjoy his genius. And most of all, I'd enjoy him. With him, I'm sure more drama than I'd like would take hold. I'm prepared for that eventuality. One thing I certainly knew for a fact, was that Mr. Phoenix Wright, Ace Attorney, would be bad for business.


End file.
